


The Herald Of Tevinter

by DragonRider1



Series: Bleeding Hearts, of the Inquisition [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonRider1/pseuds/DragonRider1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A maleficar with a conscience, a blood mage with a heart. (...) What they will think?”<br/>“Nothing less, Inquisitor.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Herald Of Tevinter

_"Let the blade pass through the flesh."_

_“…let my blood touch the ground.”_

He shot up from his place on the cold stone floor and turned to face the person responsible for the interruption, his hand reaching for his hidden blade. Fingers glancing over chilled steel as his red-pink eyes locked onto his intruder, tensed and still unsure of this place, of his “allies”. He relaxed slowly and let his hand drift back to his side, realizing it was the Chantry Seeker. She seemed to accept his importance earlier and if that left her blade from his back, then he was satisfied enough. He turned back around and knelt before Andraste’s stone form, clasping his scarred hands together and resting his forehead on them. 

“ _Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice. So let it be._ ” He stayed there for a moment longer, staring at the statue before him. He moved to his feet with a certain care, peeking from the corner of his eye to see Cassandra was now standing right next to him. 

“You seemed to be a very pious man, Inquisitor.” Cassandra’s eyes remained on the statue and the Inquisitor focused his eyes back on her too. 

“Is there a reason a mage cannot believe in the Maker… and his very beautiful and compassionate wife… if the verses and statues are true representations.” The Inquisitor could taste the tang of venom that leaked into his voice, he wished it would have dissipated the moment he opened his mouth. 

“There are many mages who blame the Maker and the Chantry for their subjugation.” 

“I do not blame the Maker for giving me this power; it is the Chantry who chooses to cage us like birds, because of the Maker’s blessing.” 

“Birds cannot destroy an entire building with their fingertips or use blood to pull demons from the Fade.” The Inquisitor could feel the accusation in the latter comment, a monotone silence came hover around the two of them. 

“Do you fear mages, Cassandra? Are you afraid of the power I possess or the creature I can become?” 

The Seeker looked at him, staring at him as level as she could manage, shifting to face him. 

“Should I, Inquisitor?” 

The Inquisitor let his neutral facade slip, the smirk appearing on his face full of spite. He turned to Cassandra, he could see her curiosity waver with angry fear. 

“I can become a wolf at will and tear you apart; I can send tendrils of lightening through your body and fry it to the core; and worst of all, I can pull your desires and demons before you from the Fade. Should you fear me, Cassandra? Yes, I should think so.” The Inquisitor stepped closer to Cassandra, watching thoughts and emotions flash before her eyes as he admitted out loud the secret everyone already knew. 

“No…” Cassandra’s eyes suddenly focused on one emotion, defiance. “No, I will not fear you Inquisitor; I have seen the man behind the magic. A man who is willing to sacrifice his life for an elven child; a man who feeds the poor before he feeds himself; a man with unsavory circumstances who has struggled for a better tomorrow for everyone; but himself.” 

“ENOUGH!” The Inquisitor’s voice echoed through the empty room and Cassandra’s bravery faltered, the Inquisitor took the opening and backed her into the wall. He leaned down, staring into her wide, but still rebellious eyes. “This man you see, this hero that you speak of, is an illusion. I am a mage, stained with blood and demons; I am a blood mage, a maleficar. I…I am lost…consumed by my hatred and fear…enough…enough of your worried glance and-and troubled eyes…turn them to someone who wants and deserves them…please.” 

The Inquisitor felt so tired and drained; as if the strength he had been using to lead the Inquisition was taken from him by a demon of sloth. It started with his head, becoming far to heavy to hold up; he laid it on the Seeker’s shoulder. A part of him screamed for her to push him away and strike him down where he stood, as he leaned into the wall and the Seeker with his hands holding him up. Instead of slaying the worthless being before her though, Cassandra slipped her arms around him; helping him to the floor as his legs gave out. 

“You are a far better man then you realize, Inquisitor; far better than the people who started this war. I do not fear you, I fear for you; it is only you who fear yourself.” Cassandra’s word wrapped around him, caressing his skin and prickling in his veins much like his magic did when being cast; it made him sleepy, so very tired. 

“A maleficar with a conscience, a blood mage with a heart. Tell me Cassandra, what they will think?” 

“Nothing less, Inquisitor.”


End file.
